Thursday, November 30, 2017

Make Mine a Military Man! #RomSuspense #Cowboy #LoneStarLeathernecks

I love a good military hero. I love them whether on active duty or retired. When Susan Stoker invited me to participate in her Special Forces: Operation Alpha Kindle World, I hesitated, mostly because I wrote Marines and not SEALs. However, I adore Susan and I wanted to give it a shot.

Available Now!

Thus, Securing Arizona was born! I had so much fun writing this book. This year has been full of challenges for me, but at least I had the security of my home and my family. For Arizona, she's been on the run, trying to save her own life. While Mickey is looking for her, for an entirely different reason, she runs from him, too. Thankfully, it's hard to shake a SEAL, and this one will do whatever it takes to keep her safe!

As it's part of Kindle Worlds, it's only available on US Amazon, but it's also in Kindle Unlimited as well! I hope you check it out!

What's Next?

For December, As You Were Cowboy is releasing. It's book 2 of Lone Star Leathernecks and focuses on Mateo, a Marine who received a medical discharge after a severe spinal injury. This book is especially close to my heart. The pain, and suffering Mateo endures are all pains I've gone through in the last four years of spinal issues. Nerve pain is an entirely different type of agony.  More, Mateo and Claire bond over their mutual love of horses.

I spent years working with horses, both wild mustangs and rescue horses. I know just how empathic these tremendous creatures can be and how they respond to our moods. I think my work with them made me a better person. As You Were Cowboy is a labor of love, and since I go under the knife again a week before this releases, I truly hope you check it out and spend a magical time with Claire and Mateo as they work together to overcome loss and pain.

Available December 11th!

Wednesday, November 29, 2017

A Writer goes Heroine Hunting in London, 1826 #KensingtonBooks #KensingtonRomance

Every writer is perhaps familiar with the process of character development depicted in the current film “The Man Who Invented Christmas.” From the human element that surrounds him, Charles Dickens collects names, overhears snatches of conversation, and observes quirks, all of which are transformed by the alchemy of story writing into memorable characters, like Ebenezer Scrooge.  

With each new book the romance writer faces the challenge of creating a heroine and hero for her readers to love. How does she do it? I can tell you how it works for me.

My heroine begins in my head by standing up to someone in power or authority or by facing a circumstance that threatens her. I like a heroine who finds, as her sister-in-fiction Elizabeth Bennet does, that "my courage always rises with every attempt to intimidate me.”

Once my heroine has spoken in my head, I must find a name that suits her. I try on names until the right one clicks. Because she does not live entirely in my head, my heroine must have a face and figure, eyes and a nose, a chin and mouth, and hair color. She has a way of dressing and a demeanor. Each of those details is an opportunity to cast her as the sort of heroine who holds things together, like Eleanor Dashwood of Sense and Sensibility, or the sort of heroine who shakes things up, like Georgette Heyer’s The Grand Sophy. Pictures help my image of the heroine take shape, like this one that suggests Jane Fawkener’s clear-eyed estimate of her fallen hero, Lord Hazelwood.

You can meet Jane in the first Husband Hunter book, coming January 2 from Lyrical Press—The Husband Hunter’s Guide to London. Alone in London, with her British agent father missing and her family in disarray, Jane finds herself in an unlikely partnership with the disgraced Viscount Hazelwood, a spy.

Because heroines are never the only women in the hero’s life, or the reader’s, a writer must distinguish them from other women. Above all the heroine is the “alert consciousness” at the center of the book, the one who feels things and changes and grows. She’s perceptive. She has integrity. She’s resilient. She has a sense of humor and cares about the people in her life, even those who are difficult to love. She doesn’t have a lot of sexual experience, but she has sense enough to listen to her body and to distinguish between a shiver of awareness and a shudder of revulsion. Even if she has no immediate goal at the beginning of the story, she discovers what she’s meant to be doing, and prompted by love and courage, she acts.

RT says: “Kate Moore introduces readers to the cutthroat world of husband hunting in London and a heroine who refuses to accept marriage as her only fate. The female protagonist radiates with a quiet strength and is clever while maintaining her genteel ways." 

I love to hear from readers. Let me know whether you prefer the heroine who’s “holding things together” or the one who’s “shaking things up.”

Tuesday, November 28, 2017

#Win Amazon Gift Cards! Winter Wonderland Scavenger Hunt

Night Owl Reviews Web Hunt 

Hello my darling! 

I've got a winter treat for you. 

I'm one of the sponsors of the Night Owl Reviews Winter Wonderland Scavenger Hunt. During this event I'm going to help you find some great new books. Make sure to check my featured title out along the way. 

The grand prize is a $100 Amazon Gift Card. 

Event Dates: Nov 20 - Dec 13 

December 18th at 5pm PT / 8pm ET in our chat room 
Duration: Around 1 hour 

Monday, November 27, 2017

Meet a DARING WIDOW, Book 2 in THOSE NOTORIOUS AMERICANS series! Pre-order at $1.99 for a few more days!

DARING WIDOW in print and ebook! Yummy cover, yes?
Money can buy anything, can't it? Those brash Americans--their dollars and charms work wonders. Until they learn that money can buy anything...but love.

Andre Claude Marceau, Duc de Remy and Prince d’Aumale, finds Marianne’s joie de vivre enchanting—and her plan for a temporary affair with him impossible.

He offers her one night in his arms, and to his delight, she craves another. But he needs more from her than a few hours of bliss. So when he shows her how to fill her days with passions that complement those they enjoy together at night, Marianne must choose. 

Will she insist on a passing fancy? Or will she abandon the terrors of her past to embrace a brighter future beside a man who offers her a grand love affair with life?

Excerpt, DARING WIDOW, Copyright 2017, Cerise DeLand.
Marianne stood in front of Number 10, her destination. A three-story stone structure with grape leaves carved in relief into the frame, the building had two abnormally large doorways. They appeared to be proportioned to receive a sculptor’s works. The one with a large cut glass window seemed to be the entrance. Inside, the concierge in a somber black suit spied her, hurried out and opened the door for her.
The address was the same as on the billboard. The plaque on the door proclaimed it as the “Gallerie de la Cite.”
“The Duc de Remy’s exhibit is here?”
Oui, Madame. Through the foyer and up the grand staircase.”
Merci beaucoup.” She sailed through the lobby and up the steps. Four other patrons casually climbed the broad steps.
At the top, she halted her in her tracks. A man and woman passed around her. But she stared at the sculpture before her. It robbed her of breath. 
Here upon a black granite plinth stood a man of white Carrara marble, eight or nine feet tall. All muscle and bone, honed by battle and hewn by strife, massively masculine and robust, he was of such proportions that any other human would fall down in honor of him. He stood in the center of the oval entry to the rest of the exhibit, sunlight from a semicircle of windows shining on him, shadowing the arc of a bicep here and emphasizing the indentation of a deltoid there. 
Yet he did not stand tall, but was hunched. His back was curled, bowed in new defeat. His hair long and ragged, etched in the pristine marble to invoke its filth, shrouded him to the waist. Ropes circled his torso and hung from his wrists. His noble head hung lax from his corded neck as he stared at the nothingness before him.
The beauty of this body was nothing to the grand agony of his face. She gasped at the sight and could not look away.
She walked around him and bent to face him. He looked at her, but beyond her. He was blind, in torment. She drew back, aghast once more at the brutal honesty of what she saw.
This was a strong man brought low. By loss. By self-destruction.
She ached with him. Once proud, dynamic. A man others had once envied and emulated. A man so capable, so honored and now, abandoned by others and most tragically, by himself.
She stood for how long she did not know. The power of him infusing her. And the power that he’d lost draining her of envy and inspiring pride at Andre’s talent to portray him so precisely.
Across the room, beyond the giant, a young man in an apprentice’s smock tipped his head in question. Not at her. But someone who stood behind her. He tipped his head and, as if on signal, he departed.
Her skin tingled.
The hunger she’d felt for months dissipated. She’d be sated now.
Bonjour, ma petite,” Andre said in that bass voice she heard in the bleak hours of her lonely nights. “I dared not hope you would come.”
She closed her eyes, wishing to hang on to this moment when he was happy to see her and she was as delighted to see him. In this slice of time, there was none of her inner conflict, no yearning to find him, see him, laugh with him. There was just satisfaction. But it could not last.
Why not tell him the truth? He had asked for honesty and he did not deserve duplicity. He had only told her how he admired her and she had rebuffed him out of…what? Not convention, no. But her own fear to allow such a strong man near her heart or body. Perhaps even her own fear of her outrageous ambitions? She faced him, and oh, the delight to see him again ran through her like cool water after a drought. He was as tall, as magnificent as she remembered him. Perhaps more so, since she had pined for him so badly.
Bonjour, Andre.” She gave him that, his given name as he had allowed her use of it. During these past months, she’d thought of him that way, the sound of his name slipping through her lips at night as she attempted to draw him. Andre. “I saw a billboard and I could not stay away.”
He stood against the white marble wall, the gold veins of the stone highlighting the gilded mien of his own long waving hair. He had folded his arms and one leg was casually crossed before the other. He wore a loosely cut black wool suit, a bright vermilion vest, a white linen shirt open to his strong throat and a purple kerchief tied at his neck. Every inch of him denoted the artist at his leisure.
“I’m glad I’ve come. This—” she said and lifted a hand toward the statue, “—this is glorious. I heard others speak of him but they did him no justice.”
He gazed at her with hollow eyes. 
“No words can,” she went on, wanting to give him more praise and unequal to the task. “Will you tell me about him?”
“Him?” he asked, as if she had insulted him with the question. 
She knew why. He wanted her to ask about himself. And she would. She would.
He stared at her. “You know who he is.”
She did. “Who could not? To view him is to know. No pamphlet or placard need declare it.”
A light glimmered in Andre’s blue eyes. “What do you see?”
“A man torn by his own desires and ruined by his own misjudgments.”
His marvelous mouth firmed. Pride lit his face. “And?”
“He will never see himself again.”
“He did not truly see himself before he was blinded.”
“A punishment,” she acknowledged, “to fit his crime.”
Andre shifted, peering at her with narrowed eyes. “There is another he will not see.”
Oh, yes. “He will never see her again.”
“The one who betrayed him.”
She nodded. “The one whose beauty he believed was soul deep.”
Andre pushed away from the wall and approached the statue. “He must pay for his own failure to perceive her true nature.”
“She was not equal to him.”
He whirled to face her. “That’s not what he believed. He thought she was the most beautiful creature he’d ever seen.”
“The beauty was outside. Her core was hollow.”
“He pays for his miscalculation,” he said.
She dropped her gaze to the floor, anxiety eating her that they spoke of more than the statue or the Biblical story of the blind man and the woman he had loved so unwisely.
“Do you think she pays?” he asked, his deep voice wistful.
She raised her face to consider the statue’s tortured expression. “Delilah?”
He waited.
“Oh, yes. She forevermore will hate herself for her own failures and unworthiness.”
Andre took her by the wrist. “Come with me.” 
Her pulse jumped.
He led her down a hallway and into a room where he shut the heavy wooden door and drew her into a room crowded with bronzes and plasters, scattered about on tables and shelves. Two ivory overstuffed chairs stood in one sunlit corner near a sumptuous black velvet chaise longue.

Saturday, November 25, 2017

Do You Love Regency Romance? Yeah, Me Too! And Here's Another! by Suz deMello (#Regency Romance)

Will he choose love or honor?

Orphaned Kate Scoville is trapped in a tower prison by her scheming uncle, who plans to wed her to his loathsome son in order to gain control of her fortune. Plucky and resourceful, Lady Kate escapes to London to ask for help from her guardian. She's sure the elderly Earl of Devere will help her in her plight.

Kate is astounded to find that the Earl has died, and his son has become her guardian.

Quinn, the present Earl, remembers Kate from his childhood as an awkward child he loved to taunt and tease. But now his ward has grown into a beautiful young woman. Though honor prevents Quinn from making Kate his, their attraction is irresistible…

Will Kate tempt Quinn into abandoning honor? Will the wicked uncle trap Kate, compromise her and steal her fortune?

First published as Hopelessly Compromised by Kensington/Zebra Books. Winner of the Beacon Award for Best Historical Romance.

What readers said about previous editions:

Five Stars! Regency Romance is Alive!
--B. Berry

Five Stars! Thoroughly Engaging Regency Romp
--Catherine Cavendish

Five Stars!

Five Stars! …so charming and lively…

Five Stars! Regency at Its Best!
--Judith Dedek

Here’s a snippet to pique your interest:

Kate smiled at Quinn. "I believe I've won your prize, my lord."

"So what shall you demand of me, sweet Kate?"

She tipped her head to one side and regarded him, still flirting with her eyes, her smile. He could tell she was nervous, yet expectant. He did not know if he should encourage her.

"I'm not quite sure yet." She touched the tip of her tongue to her upper lip. "What do you have to give me, my lord?"

His voice rasped in his throat. "Quinn. Please, call me Quinn."

"My lord Quinn," she said, with just a trace of mocking good humor in her tone.

"Kate," he said, taking her chin gently between his long, strong fingers. She quivered slightly but did not pull away as he stroked her cheek. Her response rippled through her body as he drew her into his arms.

Yes. The first kiss was as sweet as he had known it would be. For a few moments, he forgot why he had denied his desire, and hers, for so long.

As he touched his lips to hers, it was as though a spark flashed between them, igniting their emotions. Their mouths caressed and danced. When his tongue sought admission, she did not refuse him entry. He groaned as his embrace tightened, pulling her onto his lap. She reached up, touching his shoulders, tentatively at first, then with more confidence as their kiss deepened. Her arms wound around his neck as he held her close. He could feel her breasts, barely confined by the flimsy muslin, pressing against his chest. Her heartbeat was quick as a rabbit's, and knowing she was excited aroused him all the more.

When they finally parted he regarded her with amazement. "My darling Kate. Where did you learn to kiss like that?"

Want to score a copy? 

Buy links:

(and why Smashwords, you ask? You can purchase any format you please there, and we authors get a bigger cut of the profits. So...Go, Smashwords!)

Friday, November 24, 2017

Share the immortal king's true story #SciFi #Pietas #Books @kayelleallen

Will you help me share my immortal king's true story? I'm writing a series about Pietas and I'd love your help to share his book with the world.
When you support this Thunderclap project, you'll be supporting me. Thank you!

To share in the Thunderclap, click the share buttons on the site for Twitter, Facebook, and/or Tumblr. You'll be asked to allow them to access your account. This is not a nefarious scheme to take over -- it's the only legal way they can send one single post in your name.

The posts will all be released at the same time, allowing a huge exposure for the book -- and my immortal king.

Thank you!

In this scene from Bringer of Chaos: Forged in Fire: we get a peek at the weird weather on this world. It's not like Earth's. It's dangerous to be out in a storm. When a mini-tornado wreaks havoc, Pietas finds himself in an awkward situation.

The sky turned tornado-green. A few fat drops of rain slid down Pietas's neck, leaving a cold trail in the heat. A few others smacked his hair and face. These scouts warned of the threatening army advancing. Higher up, ominous thunderclouds glowed a menacing pink and orange.

They picked up the pace. In the distance, the oncoming storm blackened the sky. The wind whistled, calling its dogs to hunt.

Icy fingers dragged down his spine. Pietas swallowed, fighting back bile.

The hill they'd crested led down to a jagged claw-rip of darkness, a slash in the velvet forest forming a lightless, foreboding tunnel. The coffin-shaped slice emptied into an abyss of shadow, swallowing every indication of depth and life.

Despite knowing he needed to hurry, Pietas slowed his step, dragging his bare feet through straw-colored grass. Turning in a slow circle, he held out his arms as high as he could and lifted his face to the cloud-covered sun, a child wanting one more minute outdoors before bedtime. He cherished the open air and light, unwilling to relinquish the beauty of his freedom.

"Pietas!" Joss called to him. She'd gotten far ahead. "Come on!"

He started toward her. The forest maw ratcheted open. An unhinged jaw of a snake. An uneven patch of ground beneath a foot cost him his balance. Pietas stumbled, tripped, and threw out his hands to break his fall. He landed on hands and knees and then sat, cross-legged. His scraped palms stung and bled. A potent swear word flew to mind, but he denied it voice.

His sister slowed as she passed, but didn't speak. If an Ultra did not ask for help, none was offered.

The twins, however, tasked with guarding the party, did stop. Aid was their duty.

"Guys." Six stooped next to him. "You go ahead. I'll stay with Pi."

Pietas flicked his fingers. Without a response, the twins joined Dessy.

Joss looked up and around at the sky. "Pietas, I'll wait for you."

"No, go ahead. The rain's almost here. I'll join you under the trees."

When she had gone, he examined his palms. The injury had healed.

"How's the ankle?"

"Fine, ghost." He wiped off his hands.

His friend studied him, glanced toward the forest. "Gotcha." He stood.

When Pietas shifted to rise, Six offered a hand.

"Thanks, but I can manage." He stood and brushed himself off.

The wind picked that moment to set a dust devil whirling into the sand and dried grasses around them. It flew up, stinging exposed skin.

Six covered his eyes. "Oh, man!"

Pietas shielded his own. The whirlwind ripped the cloth tie holding back his hair and whipped strands into his face. He tried facing into the wind, but the circular current spun the tresses back into his eyes. As fast as it had risen, the wind subsided.

Full of static electricity from the wind and storm, his long settled over his shoulders and adhered to his neck.

Six dug into his pockets. "I have another strip." They had torn several from a ragged shirt. Six wore the biggest piece around his neck. He set down his pack and opened it.

"Six," Pietas hissed. He did not turn his head, but looked toward the others. "Leave it!"

The ghost glanced up at him, then the immortals, waiting ahead. "You want the women messing with your hair? Is that it?"

He closed his eyes, counting to ten. To a hundred would not erase this embarrassment. "No." When he beheld Six, the man had the discourtesy to smirk. "Don't look at me in that tone of voice."

Forged in Fire...

What if you were a soldier marooned on an undeveloped planet?
What if you had no food and few survival tools? What if you'd been genetically engineered? No matter how agonizing the wound, you'd survive. No matter how you died, you'd come back.
It could be worse. You could be here alone. But that's the problem. You're not.
On one hand, there's a tribe of sentient panthers who protect you. Although you hate humans, the one who was dumped on this planet with you has become a trusted friend. The beautiful telepathic warrior you've loved since forever is at your side.
On the other hand, half a million people who depend on you are trapped inside stasis pods, waiting for you to save them. It wouldn't be so bad if you could wake up a few at a time. But the traitors who abandoned you and your followers set the timers to release all half million.
At the same time.
You're facing an ecological disaster and over five hundred thousand hungry, thirsty, homeless immortal warriors.
Worse still, before you can build shelter, figure out how to grow food, or set up a government, you must take back command from a ruthless enemy you've fought for centuries.
Your brutal, merciless father.
Talk about being forged in fire...
Immortals may heal, but a wound of the heart lasts forever.

Bringer of Chaos: Forged in Fire
This book has no profanity or explicit content, but lots of angst, a little humor, some sweet romance, and a ton of betrayal with plenty of vengeance. Oh, and let's not forget--one ginormous black "kitty".

Follow the Forged in Fire tour and pick up free goodies:

Available for preorder on Amazon Nov 11-Dec 28. Purchase on Dec 29, 2017
Free on Kindle Unlimited
Kayelle Allen writes Sci Fi with misbehaving robots, mythic heroes, role playing immortal gamers, and warriors who purr. She's a US Navy veteran and has been married so long she's tenured.
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Thursday, November 23, 2017

Happy Thanksgiving

Today we celebrate the three days in 1621, when the pilgrims and the Wampanoag Indians shared an autumn harvest feast. Thanksgiving is a family day but there is time for both family and romance.
Here are a few ideas for how you and your spouse or boyfriend can serve up some romance with your turkey for an unforgettable Thanksgiving:
To start here is a romantic Thanksgiving day message:

1. And, with all the bright autumn colors, this is a beautiful time of the year, so after dinner take a romantic drive in the countryside with that special someone.

2. Have a romantic moment together of kissing and cuddling in front of the fireplace with some wine and cheese, or hot chocolate.

3. Nothing is more romantic than love letters. You and your husband or boyfriend can write notes, saying what you love most about each other, and exchange them after dinner.
4. Feed each other your Thanksgiving dessert. Whether it’s sweet potato, pumpkin, pecan or other pies, spoon feeding sweet treats to your boyfriend or husband and vice versa is hot. 
5. Go outside together to watch the sunset, stay a little longer and gaze at the stars, snuggling together under the beautiful autumn sky makes for a great romantic moment and a nice end to a Thanksgiving Day.
6. And in the evening, to spice up this Thanksgiving, you and your husband or boyfriend can find some more creative way to use that whip cream you bought for the pumpkin pie.